


Chosen.

by outpastthemoat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attachment, F/M, Grief/Mourning, New Apsolon AU, Past Qui-Gon Jinn/Tahl, jedi order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outpastthemoat/pseuds/outpastthemoat
Summary: Life resides in the heart of the Force, and the Force resides in all living things.Qui-Gon has always had an affinity for the living Force.  If Tahl is a part of the Force now, and the Force resides in all living things, then death should not be able to take away his sense of her.  He should feel her presence still, in the echoes of voices through the Temple halls, in the ancient chossk ferns stretching their fronds towards the watery light in the arboreum.But if she is here, he cannot feel her now.  The living Force is closed to him in the midst of his grief.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Tahl (Star Wars)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 36
Collections: Jedi-Friendly, Qui-Gon/Tahl Challenge





	Chosen.

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this is an AU of another AU that I'm writing for the Qui-Gon/Tahl challenge, and this is the third New Apsolon AU I've written! I ended up going in a different direction with my other AU but couldn't shake this idea...so here it is.

Life resides in the heart of the Force, and the Force resides in all living things. 

Qui-Gon has always had an affinity for the living Force. If Tahl is a part of the Force now, and the Force resides in all living things, then death should not be able to take away his sense of her. He should feel her presence still, in the echoes of voices through the Temple halls, in the ancient chossk ferns stretching their fronds towards the watery light in the arboreum.

But if she is here, he cannot feel her now. The living Force is closed to him in the midst of his grief.

What he cannot touch, he seeks out. He sits in the shade of the chossk ferns for long hours, he walks through the halls when he cannot sleep. And when he still cannot feel the Force, no matter how meditations he conducts by the reflecting pools, he seeks out the only legacy Tahl has left him.

Qui-Gon stands at the high-arched observation window just outside the initiates’ training room, his forearms braced against the ledge. 

The initiates’ training room is bustling with activity. Within, the members of Heliost clan are taking turns sparring, and children of many species yell and jostle one another and shout remarks, some encouraging, some perhaps a shade derogatory, all good-natured. The initiates are nearing padawan-age; within the next standard year or so, they will all be chosen by masters and leave the creche to begin the next phase of their training. 

Qui-Gon has visited the initiates’ training often since New Apsolon. The councilors have encouraged him to do so. _Remember life in your grief,_ Adi and Mace tell him, and so Qui-Gon comes here when he cannot forget the life-force draining from Tahl’s body, when he cannot forget the way her grip on his hand had slackened. 

There is life here, Qui-Gon can affirm, and this vitality brings him back here day after day, despite his padawan’s puzzled glances, in spite of the responsibilties he has been avoiding. 

On the other side of the window, a tall boy is bringing his saber up with a flourish, his dark, honey-brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Qui-Gon cannot see his eyes from this distance, but he knows that they are gold, and that vivid green stripes appear when he focuses intently, or during his frequent flashes of humor. 

Qui-Gon watches the boy closely, smiling slightly to see him spring into action, battering away his opponent’s saber as easily as brushing off a stray thread from his robes. He is so intent upon his observations that he is unprepared for the presence that appears behind him. His padawan. 

“Obi-Wan,” he acknowledges. He cannot quite pull his gaze away from the boy on the other side of the window. 

Obi-Wan comes to stand next to him. “I thought I might find you here, master.”

“Is there something you require?” Qui-Gon asks. This would surprise him greatly. His padawan has been careful not to ask much of him since their return. 

Obi-Wan does not answer. Instead he says, “You observe the initiates’ training often.” 

Qui-Gon glances at him sharply. There is a somber look on Obi-Wan’s face, present since their last cataclysmic mission. He is growing up, Qui-Gon thinks with a pang of remorse. He had never meant for his padawan’s apprenticeship to be so rife with old wounds and fresh grief. Obi-Wan has deserved better than he has been offered far too often in their years together. 

“The initiates’ tournament is tomorrow,” he replies. “I had thought to attend.”

His attention is drawn back to the window. Inside the training room, the tall boy somersaults into the air and twists in midair, his lightsaber striking at his opponent’s raised swordarm. Ataru would suit him, Qui-Gon thinks, those quick reflexes would serve him well in such an intensely physical combat form. 

The other initiate barely defends himself against the attack. The tall boy whips around and drops to one knee, his lightsaber at the other initiate’s throat. 

Qui-Gon cannot look away from him. 

_“Solah.”_

The boy drops his blade and grins at his opponent, shaking his dark-honey hair out of his face from where it has fallen out of the long nerftail straggling down his back. There is an open friendliness to his face. Qui-Gon has watched him over the years, laughing in the arboreum surrounded by his friends, his lightning-quick wry humor flashing to life; studying intently in the classroom. He knows that the boy will offer kindness to an opponent, that he had suffered from nightmares as a child, that he is close to his Sullustan crechemaster and likes to propagate succulents in the small growbank in his quarters.

And yet Qui-Gon has never once spoken to this boy.

For some time, they observe the training initiates quietly. Then Obi-Wan breaks the silence, as he so often does. 

“When I first met you, you told me that you were not looking for a padawan,” his padawan says. “After meeting Xanatos, I thought I knew why. But I have come to understand. You were waiting.”

Qui-Gon pulls back from the window, dismay beginning to ring in his ears. “Obi-Wan.”

“You were waiting for _him.”_

Heaviness is pressing on his chest. Qui-Gon shifts his weight, drawing his hands inside the sleeves of his robes. “You know, then,” he says stiffly.

But Obi-Wan is shaking his head. “I know nothing. I have only guessed,” he says. “I saw the way you looked at him, and I wondered, and went looking for answers. His records do not mention his parentage, only that he is of Noorian heritage.”

Qui-Gon closes his eyes. He cannot bear to face the judgement that must surely be in his padawan’s face. “What you must think of me.”

A hand briefly touches his arm. “I think nothing less of you than I ever have,” Obi-Wan says, concern in his voice. “You loved her. You have never made any secret of that.”

He acknowledges the words with a dip of his head. “I loved Tahl all my life,” Qui-Gon says. “I could never stop loving her. Not after we parted ways. And I cannot stop even now.”

Obi-Wan turns towards him. “I only wish that I had known before. I never would have asked, never would have presumed—”

“Padawan—”

“I won’t stand in your way,” Obi-Wan says. His face is pale and full of determination. In this moment, he reminds Qui-Gon of the much younger boy who had once offered up his life for a chance to save others. “If this is your way forward, then I will step aside as your padawan. If being his master is what you must do.”

“Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon can feel the regret, the remorse breaking through his padawan. Obi-Wan has always taken on burdens that were never meant for him. 

“Perhaps I was waiting,” Qui-Gon begins slowly. “Our child was born—I held him—we surrendered him to the Force. Tahl and I both made that decision, believing it would be for the best. And so I watched him grow up from a distance. We agreed that neither of us would take him as a padawan, but after Xanatos, I needed to hold on to something, to believe in a future of some kind. So perhaps I _was_ waiting for him, for a time.”

He watches the struggle on his padawan’s face, confusion and disquiet warring with compassion. “Then how could you choose to give him up?” Obi-Wan demands.

“It was not an easy decision,” Qui-Gon admits. “But I knew that I could not have separated my love for him from my attachment to the idea of him, from what he meant to me. Our Order believes in the right to choose one’s own path. We are family by choice, and our bonds do not depend on family lineages and bloodties. By taking him as my padawan, I would have taken that choice of belonging from him, all because of my own attachment, my own desires.”

His padawan looks away, his mouth pressed close in a firm line. 

“There is a reason the Jedi do not raise their own children,” he continues. “How could I be certain of impartiality, if I had been a master to my own son? I might have been too lenient with him—or the reverse. We both would have had too much to prove—to the Order, to the Council, to each other. And he would have suffered for it.”

Obi-Wan says softly, “But you love him.”

“I do.”

His padawan is frowning, still struggling to understand. Qui-Gon can sense his conflict, his need to comprehend. 

“This is the struggle between love and attachment, the reason the Jedi follow the guidelines that we do. My dream of being his father, to be the most important person in his life, it is perhaps understandable. Yet I could not be a father to him and remain in the Order.

“But the longer I am a master, the more I realize that it is impossible to avoid love. Love can teach us many things.” He turns to face his padawan. “As you have taught me. ”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath. 

“You have always offered love that comes with no requirements. You have taught me all that I know of how to love without conditions. You have been generous with me in my grief. Perhaps I was waiting for him. But the Force knew who I needed to teach me. I chose you,” Qui-Gon says. “Never doubt that. You are my way forward, padawan.”

Inside the training room, the tall boy throws his head back and laughs, and Qui-Gon is taken back to a hundred moments, perhaps a thousand, of hearing that same laugh from the woman who still visits him in his dreams.

“I hear that Master Tyvokka will ask him to be his apprentice,” Obi-Wan says eventually.

A vision floats towards him, of his son peering up at the far-taller Wookie, a quizzical look on his face. The boy’s hair blends in with his master’s fur. Qui-Gon cannot help but smile at the image. “They will be a fine pair. As we are.”

He pulls his padawan close and drapes an arm around his shoulders. Perhaps Obi-Wan thinks that his master means to reassure him, but it is the boy’s steadying presence that Qui-Gon is in need of. 

There is life here.

  
  
  
  



End file.
